by Joanne Rock
But Wes scarcely seemed to hear her, his concentration devoted to the text onscreen, which he’d enlarged. “Take a look at this.”
She started to lean over his shoulder and then decided she’d be better off just pulling up a chair, since he seemed engrossed in his work anyway. Settling next to him, she retrieved her juice in an effort to keep cool around the sexy detective. “It’s the coding for one of the profiles, right?”
Her gaze scanned along the text that suggested the woman who’d written it was especially adept at blow jobs.
Tempest nearly spewed her orange juice.
“Yes. But it’s unusual coding since it includes this graphic of an asterisk here and I can’t see any explanation on the site for what significance an asterisk has. Do you know?”
Blinking her way past the shock of blow jobs writ ten in sixteen-point font, Tempest tried to focus on his question and not wonder if there was actually a technique to good blow jobs. What other key pieces of sex advice had she been missing out on all her adult life?
“I don’t know what the asterisk means. Perhaps it only has significance to the site managers?” She congratulated herself on her calm, intelligent words despite her ridiculous thoughts. “Maybe it means the woman in question is a repeat customer or received a good rating from her dates or something.”
“But why put it there unless the Web site wants customers to see it?” Wes turned toward her, swiveling in his chair until he faced her head-on.
“Valid point.” She half wondered if the asterisk denoted adept blow job givers. “I can put in another call to the MatingGame people and see what they say.”
“What if it denotes the prostitutes in the crowd so that visitors who are aware they’re available can make sure they choose from the right pool of women?”
“I don’t know.” Shrugging, she found it hard to believe MatingGame had anything to do with prostitution. Or was it just that she couldn’t bear for her business instincts to have been so dead wrong? “Did you check out other women who have the asterisk graphic on their page?”
“I’ll put someone on it. I know you don’t want one of your companies to be found guilty of trafficking in sex, but one way or another, I have to get to the bottom of it.”
“I’m just as eager as you are to figure out what’s going on.” She didn’t need her board of directors questioning her business decisions now.
Reaching down to the floor, she picked up her lap top to show him how helpful she could be in his case.
Except that her arm brushed his leg as she moved. JUST AN ACCIDENT?
Wes might have written off the barely-there touch as unintentional, except that coincidences were piling up as fast as he could count them in this investigation. His murder case just happened to be linked to Tempest Boucher, who seemed to be the target of an intruder bent on destruction. And he still wasn’t comfortable with the fact that her father had died while out with a MatingGame client, same as the victim in Wes’s case.
Maybe the incidents didn’t have a damn thing to do with one another and it had all just been chance. But—more likely—the events were genuinely related. He was anxious to speak to the day-to-day operations manager of MatingGame to see if she was selling more than dating advice.
Either way, Wes had reached his personal coincidence quota today. Since Tempest had touched him, he could only believe that she’d meant it.
Shifting beside him, she hefted her small computer onto the desk, her cheeks flushing pink.
“Sorry.” She murmured an apology before cracking open the case of her laptop.
“Are you?” He studied her while she flicked through the opening screens as her computer warmed up. One brown curl grazed her temple while the rest remained knotted haphazardly at the back of her head with only a felt tip pen to keep it in place.
She blew the curl away from her eyes impatiently as she huffed out a sigh. “No, actually, I’m not a bit sorry. I can’t help you unless I can access the MatingGame site. It’s not my fault your he-man sprawl of legs takes up every square foot of space beneath the desk.”
He watched her brow furrow in concentration, her lips pursed while she tapped more keys on the laptop. His gaze lingered on her mouth, which appeared deliciously free of lipstick today.
No doubt about it, he wanted her. Her alibi checked out for his case, so he wasn’t worried about the ethics of the situation. And although he wanted to find the homicidal hooker who had taken down her victim a week ago, Wes didn’t really have any other professional interest in MatingGame. If some facet of the company was involved in prostitution, Wes would stake his reputation that Tempest Boucher didn’t know a damn thing about it. Either way, that wasn’t his department. Another cop would make that bust, not him.
From where he was sitting, there wasn’t a reason in the world not to pursue the only woman to capture his interest in longer than he cared to remember.
“I checked your alibi.” He tossed the comment out there, as he navigated his way through a few more pro files of New York–based singles on the MatingGame site.
“Alibi?” Her computer keys stopped tapping.
“For last Saturday night.” His gaze wandered over another curly-headed brunette on-screen but the vampish female whose profile touted her S and M expertise left him cold.
What was it about Tempest that set a torch to his libido?
“I almost hate to ask why I’d need an alibi for last Saturday night.” She swiveled away from her laptop to face him.
“I wanted to be damn sure you weren’t my murderer before things started heating up between us.” He down-sized the S and M woman and clicked on a—surprise—totally nude chick. There hadn’t been many nude photos on the site, but nudity wasn’t prohibited by the guide lines either.
“I rescue animals from trash cans, for crying out loud. Why would I ever kill someone?” She huffed out a sigh before turning toward his computer screen and the naked babe whose body was admirable enough, but it wasn’t the body he wanted to see. “And on another note, nothing is going to heat up between us.”
“Things are already heating up.” He reached for the errant lock of hair at Tempest’s temple and coiled his finger through the curl. Silky and sexy, the sable strand clung to his skin as if it wanted to linger with him.
Around him.
“You’re just getting hot and bothered because you’ve been reading about every sex fetish under the sun and now you’re staring at a disrobed female with perfect breasts.” She eased back from him, taking her sweet curves and soft brown waves a few more inches away.
“She’s not the one making me hot and bothered.” He stared into Tempest’s surprised brown eyes, wondering how she could possibly ignore such a blatant come-on. Did she find it that difficult to believe he would be interested? “Tell me, Tempest, do you date much?”
“Is this question of a professional nature?” She tugged on her necklace in what he began to realize was a nervous gesture. Fondling the small pearl at the end of the gold chain, she slid the charm to the right and then to the left, back and forth.
He imagined that mesmerizing touch skimming across his skin instead. Back and forth.
“Yes and no. We were talking about your alibi, but then it made me remember your alibi was a date.” He rescued the pearl from her twitching fingers. “It made me wonder if you go out much or if you have a significant other in your life.”
She went utterly still as he replaced the necklace just below her collarbone, being careful not to actually touch her. He had the distinct impression that under Tempest’s somewhat shy facade lay a woman of emotions as fiery as her name implied. If he ever touched her…sparks would definitely fly.
“I don’t have time for significant others.” She shrugged, the movement shifting the pearl along her skin. “I barely have time to watch my soap opera and feed my dog.”
“So the coffee shop guy doesn’t hold any special place in your affections?” Not that he was jealous, damn it.
&n
bsp; “I don’t date.” She said it more firmly, perhaps reading some of his intent in his eyes. “And I don’t think you can find people who will be remotely compatible with you by hanging out in your average nightclub or coffee shop. I always thought a service like MatingGame would be the better way to go.”
“You can’t test chemistry online.” He couldn’t imagine meeting a woman in such a sterile environment. How would you know what the personal dynamics would be like unless you met face-to-face? Much better to get close.
“Chemistry is overrated. What about common interests and shared values? That’s the heart of a great relationship.”
Wes had heard the same spiel from his partner Vanessa, but had never given her ideas the time of day. Now that Tempest seemed to place stock in them, too, he wondered how a man would go about winning over her mind as much as her body.
Not that it should matter to Wes. His plans for Tem pest were simple. Straightforward. Soon to be satisfying.
“Maybe you’re right.” He turned back to the computer, thinking he’d finish a little business at the same time he got to know Tempest better. “I thought I’d play around with the MatingGame application form anyway to get an idea what they want to know to match people up with dates. You want to help me? Maybe we can learn a few things about each other.”
“We don’t need to know much about each other to work together.”
Undeterred, Wes started filling in blanks on the application form. “Qualities I value in a woman—loyalty, faithfulness, integrity.”
Beside him, Tempest snorted.
“What?”
“What do you mean ‘what’? You sound like you’re shopping for a dog, not a girlfriend. Everybody wants loyalty in a relationship, Wes. That doesn’t say squat about what kind of woman you’d like.”
He stared at his application, still liking his answers. “This is the stuff that matters.”
“What about creativity and vision? What about finding a woman who follows her dreams and celebrates life? Someone who isn’t afraid to thumb her nose at conventional norms so she can immerse herself in her art…” She trailed off, her tawny gaze suddenly a bit horror-stricken.
Wes couldn’t help the smile that curled his lips. He leaned in closer to Tempest, ready to find out if she harbored passion and fire beneath her nervous twitches and tendency to wriggle.
“Someone like you?”
CHAPTER FIVE
TEMPEST COULDN’T ANSWER. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t make herself move away from the six-foot-plus detective inching closer to her with every breath.
If she had reasons for keeping her distance from this man, she certainly couldn’t remember them now when her whole body shivered in anticipation of whatever might come next.
His lips brushed hers in a whisper-light caress, just enough to whet her appetite for more. She caught the scent of peppermint tea on his breath and spicy after shave on his jaw, her senses focusing solely on Wes until the rest of the room around her disappeared. She could only taste this moment, this man.
Sliding her hands up his shoulders, she absorbed the feel of him the way she would test a new batch of clay. Except Wes was already perfectly formed and sharply defined, chiseled by more skilled fingers than her own. She eased her way up his corded neck, molding her hands about his strong jaw until she pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.
He was beautiful. Her hands recognized the physical appeal of his cleanly defined muscles, savoring the supple skin over hard, rippled strength. But the delights for her hands couldn’t come close to the feast for her mouth. His kiss teased and invited, daring her to give more of herself to him.
She hoped she knew better, because the languid strokes of his tongue tempted her to fall right into him. Breathe him in. Experience firsthand the most amazing sculpture imaginable.
She skimmed her fingers into his dark hair, winding them around his neck. He growled deep in his throat, encouraging her.
Until he kept on growling.
Arching back, she broke their kiss. Only to discover Eloise doing the growling a scant foot away, her ruff raised in aggressive warning as she snarled softly at Wes.
“No, Eloise,” Tempest scolded her, using the stern voice the doggie-school instructor had taught her. “Go lie down.”
Eloise cocked her head first to one side and then the other—clearly confused.
“She thinks I was devouring you,” Wes supplied, keeping still until the dog trotted off to her open kennel where Tempest kept her blanket and a few toys.
“She’s my voice of reason.” Tempest knew she should listen to the dog instead of her sex-deprived libido, but Wes didn’t make it easy. “And I would think she did you a favor.”
“By making sure I didn’t get past first base?” His softened tones brought to mind pillow talk and break fast in bed. “How do you figure?”
She shut out the sound of that seductive voice in an effort to keep her distance. Maintain space. Remember that he suspected a business she’d brought on board at Boucher.
“Kissing me only complicates things for you. For all you know, I’m selling my fellow sisters on the street for a few quick bucks.” Growing more indignant by the moment, she straightened in her chair, easing away from him. Where was his sense of honor, for crying out loud?
Wes rolled his eyes. “Whoever is behind this isn’t selling anyone on the street. If my informant is right, anything connected to MatingGame would be very high-end.”
“Earth to Wes—that’s all the more reason you should suspect me. My whole lifestyle is very high-end.” She looked around her unassuming little studio with a thirteen-inch TV and a futon couch she’d dressed up with extra pillows. “Okay, so maybe I don’t look too sophisticated around here, but you know perfectly well I come from a ridiculously privileged family.”
“Who’s the cop here anyway? Will you trust me to do my job? I’ve got great instincts about who to suspect, and frankly, you seem a little too unfamiliar with three somes to run a call-girl operation.” He tipped back in his chair, drumming his hands on his chest. “Besides, when it comes right down to it, I’m not investigating MatingGame, per se. I’m only interested in how it relates to my murder case.”
“So I should feel fine about you kissing me because you would never have to be the one to bust me?”
“You should feel fine about kissing me because I make you feel damn good.”
Was she that transparent? She suppressed the urge to run her finger over her lips that still tingled from his kiss. “Do you always say what you think?”
“Hell no. I’ve been a detective for nine years, so there have been plenty of times I can’t say what I think. Would I have a job that long if I pointed fingers at people and told them they were guilty as hell?” He tugged a curl at her shoulder and watched it spring back into place. “I’ve got to reserve my professional opinion, but I make snap judgments on a personal level just like everybody else. I know better than to share them.”
“Really?” She noticed the ivy tattoo around his wrist and reminded herself to ask him about it. “Does that mean you have personal opinions about me you’re not sharing, even though you have no problem telling me how I feel?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Lady, what you don’t know about men is a lot.”
“Didn’t I say I don’t date much?” Since her father had been too busy wheeling and dealing his way through life, Tempest had learned much of what she knew about men from soap operas. And while she adored her TV he roes, most of the men she met in real life didn’t have secret identities, evil twins with ties to underworld gangs or sordid pasts in which they were raised by Gypsies.
“But you’ve heard the stat that men think about sex something like every ten minutes, right?”
“I thought it was every half hour.”
He shrugged, his T-shirt shifting along with his sculpted muscles. “It’s a lot. If you take that into account, you can probably guess that men spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about wome
n. Yet I haven’t shared any of those thoughts with you.”
“Sex thoughts?” The air in the apartment suddenly seemed thick. Heavy. She breathed in the male scent of him and remembered the taste of his mouth.
“Definitely.” He turned back to the computer abruptly. “In fact, as long as I’m thinking major sex thoughts, I might as well enter my profile into the computer to see what MatingGame comes up with as a match for me.”
“You want to find a date?” Annoyed, she wondered how he could channel sexual energy so easily from one woman to another.
“I want to see if the system pairs me up with a legitimate date or a woman expecting to get paid for her favors.” He tapped into the Blind Date section of the site. “But the only section of the company that could really orchestrate something like this would be the Blind Date service.”
Intrigued, Tempest watched him fill out the form about what he looked for in a woman. Interestingly, he deleted his ideas about loyalty and faithfulness.
“You want a woman who takes pleasure in her femininity and isn’t afraid to show it off.” Tempest puzzled over the words, coming up with only a vague image in her mind. “You mean someone who wears short skirts?”
She really hoped he wasn’t that tacky. Still, she couldn’t staunch the urge to peer down at the long cot ton dress she’s tossed on this morning because it covered her from head to toe. The fashion equivalent of body armor.
“No. Although short skirts are never a bad thing.” A dimple puckered into his cheek even though he didn’t crack a smile. “I thought it would be too cheesy to say I’d like a woman with a closetful of lingerie.”
Remembering the mounds of silk and lace strewn all over her apartment the day before, Tempest shrank deeper into her chair. “Very cheesy. Women want to be respected for their brains.”
Although being drooled over for their bodies wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, either. Especially if Wes Shaw happened to be the drooler in question.
